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Dear Auntie Helga, I prayed that my time in girl's clothing was over once my mother and I got home. But when I saw my mother create a special drawer in my dresser for my pretty girl things, I knew I would be expected to become Little Francine again. And it didn't take long for my mother, who now insisted I call her "Mommy" had bought me other things including a pretty little baby doll pajama set, more panties, more socks and some tights, ribbons and barretts, and even a pair of little black shoes with golden buckles. When I was bad, which seemed to be happening more and more, I was spanked and then dressed as Little Francine. I was then expected to behave as a good little girl. But when I didn't... There was my "Naughty Chair" where I would receive time outs for bad behavior. It was a little pink stool and I would be forced to sit on it facing the corner wearing only little rhumba styled panties, lacy little anklets, and an over-sized bow in my hair. Once, I was brought over to a friend of my mothers. The woman had three children, all girls, and all under the age of 5. When I complained about not having anybody to play with, she told me that I could play with the girls. When I fussed and said I didn't want to play with a bunch of babies, my mother decided that if I dressed the part, maybe I would fit in better. So, despite my screaming and protesting, and after several spanks on my naked bottom, my mother proceeded to pin me into 4 very thick diapers. The diapers were so thick in fact that it made walking difficult, which was fine, since I was told to crawl instead of walking. A pair of plastic lined, ruffle panties was next. Finally I was buttoned into a pink baby dress, which was super short and had a teddy bear on the front of it. Then a big pink bow was clipped to a single ponytail on the top of my head. A pacifier was clipped to my romper and I sucked on the rubber tip until it was replaced with a baby bottle of apple juice. I crawled with the babies and baby-talked and drank 3 bottles of juice. After a time I told my mother that I had to use the restroom and she amazed me by saying that restrooms were for big girls and that I was go potty in my diapers like the other babies. And so I did. I peed my diaper and then laid down on the baby mat along side the other babies and had my wet diaper changed. I was changed into a fresh disposable diaper which crinkled when I crawled about. I also wore a little sun dress this time which did nothing to hide my diapered condition. I spent the rest of my day being babied and when we left, I wore a diaper under my jeans. I knew that people knew because I overheard comments about my well-padded bottom and I stayed very close to my mother for protection, holding her hand like a little kid and being very, very bashful...and well-behaved. There was also the tea party in which she had invited several of her lady friends over to see her well-behaved, sissified son. Dressed in the prettiest of little dresses, complete with a stiff white pinafore and layer upon layer of delicate petticoats. I was made to courtsey for the ladies as well as perform a little song my mother made me rehearse daily. I was the hit of the party and I sat on all of their laps as they fussed with my hair and commented on how pretty I was. My mother even made me raise my dress so that her friends could see my pretty little panties. I can't say that I hated all of that attention. Becoming Little Francine did have its advantages. People were much nicer to me. I was complimented all the time, even if was on how pretty I was, or how adorable my little dresses were, or how beautiful my hair was. I once received free ice cream just for being the prettiest little girl the man behind the counter had seen all day. But the biggest thing that changed was the relationship between my mother and I. We became closer when I was Francie, as she called me. Sometimes she would brush my hair and we would have very sweet little conversations. Sometimes we would watch movies together and eat popcorn. I would wear my little baby-doll pajama set, fuzzy pink slippers and suck my thumb contentedly as I pressed my back into her chest. As time went on and I grew older, Francie came out less and less. It was hard to find adorable little girl styled clothes for a boy of 13. I did have a collection of wonderful panties and anklets, and I did have a baby doll pajama set, as well as a pretty party dress, but I couldn't really pass for a little girl anymore. Sometimes my mother would dress me up and take me to the next town and we would see a movie or have dinner together. I would dress as a girl, but a girl my own age. Only my panties were a little on the puerile side. Which was fine. Once I wore a pair of girl's short-alls, a rainbow tube top, and had pigtails in my hair and rainbow laces on my sneakers. I looked every part the cute little 13 year old girl. As I got older, my mother would look fondly through my special Francine photo album and remember her sweet little girl. I am married now and my wife is older than me and is a very strong willed woman. She is very successful and wears the pants in our family, if you would pardon the expression. I found her and my mother looking through my special album one day and smiling. They both turned to look at me and smile. I knew exactly what that meant and wondered when they would take me shopping. Hugs and kisses, Sissy-Petticoated Francine Thank you for your letter Francine and for what could be read as a primer on proper petticoating, your mother is to be much admired for your proper upbringing. Auntie Helga |